Nothing but the gentle tap of rain
and the choir of crickets in sticks,
  the city of dust and bone
turned to rust and ruin
blood from dust
and bone to body
the
birds fire
rises

Give me a surface from which to start
Then give it some angles
To plug in the parts

Fill it with sorrow And mundane things
To mix with the beautiful
So they wont know what to believe

Now bring in the life , as though they where clowns
And most of them will not see the world that surrounds
Beyond these wall lies the infinite cloud
The world beyond the world
The turtle on which we perch

"And its turtles all the way down"

So no tears
the shadows of the box
Is what keep us here

But a shadow is only shade
On a summer day

And one day
*it will drift away

Hail to the king

as he crept from the ivy

Rolled to the door

He lives under the floor

In the touch

Power


Leaving my hands
Drenched is scent
Hints of clay
Fresh body
And sadness

Reminding ever
That even the beautiful

Are broken

And what has been lost

*May be found

Creak..
creak...

Gently lilting dust

Drifting

from the rock of an old chair

Aged and lined with wear
the smell is dry

it smells of memory

Of dreams

And death

reminded in that

creak..
Creak...

I touched her hand
and it was like
lightning

the division of mind

The Gentle play of sunlight on water
evening light
as the day fades

a lingering smell of orange peels
and moist Earth

As well as death
But not for you